Polaroids and Promises
by impalabro
Summary: Cas has them all pinned up on the wall in his room, the tiny windows into his life lined up in chronological order. His little Polaroid camera's been with him for many years now, and even though the first few pictures have nearly faded into grey, when he looks at them they're still as clear as the day he took them.


Cas has them all pinned up on the wall in his room, the tiny windows into his life lined up in chronological order. His little Polaroid camera's been with him for many years now, and even though the first few pictures have nearly faded into grey, when he looks at them they're still as clear as the day he took them. To start off with, a butterfly, the lightbulb hanging from his ceiling, Dean raising his eyebrow, and Sam laughing at Dean.

And then it's Dean behind the camera for a few shots, documenting Cas' first trip to a Laundromat, his first slice of Dean's homemade pie, his first rollercoaster ride where he's clutching the bar for dear life while Sam rocks out next to him.

Dean smiles whenever he sees Cas pull it out of its case. It was meant to be a distraction, at first, but he took to it better than expected. Now Cas carries it around wherever they go with the strap curled around his wrist. Dean likes to watch him photograph things because of the way he steadies himself, feet slightly apart in those blue canvas shoes he wears, focusing intently through the viewfinder, sometimes with the left eye and sometimes with the right.

It's always the same set of movements: he shuffles back and forth at first, cameraless, extending his slender fingers in a makeshift frame. His tongue darts out of his lips as he tries to find a good place to stand, and often he drops to one knee or his stomach. Then, when he's satisfied with the position, he pulls the camera out, lines up the view, and snaps a shot. Dean's shoulders inch up minutely when he watches Cas handle the object, his hands pale against the silver plastic as he turns it around to collect the photo from the front.

Now and again, he's not entirely happy with the scene as it is so he dives in to try again, but he's kept all of the outtakes in a wooden drawer in the living room. When they're feeling nostalgic, or have some time to kill, Dean enjoys looking through the collection of photos, and he's fond of many of them. He has his arm around Cas in one of them, and Cas turned the camera around for the photo so some of his sleeve is in focus while their actual faces are blurry. Both their smiles are still discernible, though, and Dean's is especially bright.

Cas started writing short notes on the back of them in black Sharpie a while back, so each photo also has a little piece of his mind attached to its memory. And that's what Dean spends a rainy Saturday reading, the whole drawer's contents cascading onto his bed as he tips all the Polaroids out and makes himself a space among them to sit in. He picks one up. It's a profile shot of Sam with his sunglasses on during a sunny day on the porch. Flipping it over, he reads Cas' tidy script.

_(03.05.2015)_

_Told Sam he looked pretty cool. Thought the sun caught his face nicely. _

He picks up another one, a natural shot of the trees at the back of the bunker.

_(07.15.2015)_

_Summer filtering through the forest. Asked Dean to come outside and enjoy the view but he has a cold. In July! Will show him this, he'll see what he's missing out on._

He can't help but grin at this. He remembers that day, he remembers his mind clouding over with sleep and sickness, and Cas bringing him the photo. The details are more attractive now; the leaves look alive with movement, and the peaks of the trees nudge the clouds softly, as if requesting safe passage into the realm above.

"_Dean," he hears Sam's call echoing down the hallway, half-muffled by the shut door of his room, "you need more water?" Sam had the habit of taking on a motherly role whenever Dean was sick, so he figured he might as well make the most of it. He knows Sam is probably busy reading or whatnot though, something he likes to do when they're not hunting, so he doesn't indulge this particular time._

"_Nah, I'm okay," he croaks. Moments later, the door swings open, revealing Sam holding a bottle of water. He throws it over to Dean, who's lying under a pile of blankets. It lands neatly on the edge of the bed, because Dean doesn't catch it, and he nods appreciatively. _

"_I couldn't hear you, your voice was too raspy," Sam says with a smirk, "but whatever, drink up, man."_

_Dean starts unscrewing the lid. "Hey, Sam," he smiles as Sam's about to leave, "you wanna Vaporub my chest?" and brings the bottle to his lips. He watches his brother grimace, half-sarcastically and half in exasperation, as he reaches to close the door again. Dean hears him yell "no thanks!" and bursts out laughing when he sees Sam breaking into a fake-run. _

_He turns his attention to the TV, a rerun of the Shawshank Redemption rolling across the screen. He screws the lid back on, puts it onto the table, and rests his head back. Before he can settle into it, though, there's a knock on the door. _

"_Dean, are you clothed?" and he knows it's Cas. "Yeah, come on in." So Cas does, with his camera on a strap over his shoulder, and what's singular about him is his ability to create comfortable silence when he's in the room. Cas reaches into his jacket and pulls out a picture of the trees behind the bunker, and hands it to Dean, who feigns unaffectedness. _

"_That it? Pft, I'd rather be in bed," he says with a hint of a smile in his voice, taking Cas by the arm and pulling him down to sit beside him on the bed, tucking the picture back into Cas' pocket. He doesn't protest, and makes it clear he doesn't mind that Dean's snotty and probably contagious by pressing the side of his head to Dean's. _

"_Don't be a dick, Dean", murmurs Cas contentedly, and Dean's always surprised at how quickly he's assimilated the language, the mannerisms, everything, and how un-angel-like he sounds sometimes. "It's beautiful," Cas adds as an afterthought._

_Dean lifts his heavy arm and puts it around Cas, making an extra effort to sound like a smitten teenager in every single rom-com he's ever watched. "Not as beautiful as you, though," and Cas laughs, moving his head to kiss him lightly on the lips. The camera clunks against Dean's stomach and Cas shrugs it off his shoulder, taking it in his hands, and turns it to face Dean. "Smile," Cas prompts._

Dean has to walk into Cas' room to find that photo of him. It's just above the bedside lamp, a shot of Dean smiling broadly, a little on the pale side and sporting a lot of stubble. Dean just thinks he looks ill, but when he points it out, Cas says he loves it. He takes it off the wall for a second and turns it over to read Cas' addition.

_(07.15.2015)_

_The day we watched the Shawshank Redemption (more accurately, the day I watched the Shawshank Redemption and Dean managed to watch it with his eyes closed, and drooled on my hand). Get busy living, or get busy sleeping, indeed. _


End file.
